


Jurassic Legacy: The InGen Diaries

by JQuinzelle



Series: Jurassic Legacy [3]
Category: Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Dinosaurs, InGen | International Genetics Incorporated (Jurassic Park), Isla Nublar (Jurassic Park)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JQuinzelle/pseuds/JQuinzelle
Summary: Prior to the tragic events of Jurassic Park in the June of 1993, Isla Nublar employed many workers to prepare the park for its grand opening. The InGen Diaries are a collection of diary entries, letters, and memos written by said employees, uncovered by BioSyn after the passing of June, 1993. The InGen Diaries explores work conditions, grievances, and relationships among the employees of Jurassic Park.
Series: Jurassic Legacy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706323
Kudos: 1





	Jurassic Legacy: The InGen Diaries

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing series with more entries to come. The goal is to have at least 20 entries, but I may go higher than that.

#  Prologue — Phoenix Rhode’s Memo

In the wake of the June 13th, 1993 incident on Isla Nublar, InGen has ordered for a seizure of all documents deemed “sensitive”. Apparently, journals and diaries were deemed such too. We really kicked the hornet’s nest, Lewis. Pray they don’t find out it was us. Included are several document excerpts kept by Isla Nublar employees. If our Isla Sorna operation goes belly-up, maybe you can use these to persuade Mascom.

-Phoenix Rhodes

#  01\. Deadly Flowers

Name: Joshua O’Keefe

Date: July 15th, 1992

There used to be three of us. The “Squeegee” team as we were known by the other employees. Three corpses in riot gear, complete with visors, looking like the kid from a Christmas Story, all puffy. It was supposed to keep us safe, but now I feel it made us more appetizing targets.

If you must know, we were called Squeegees because of our job on Isla Nublar. We called security, “Tasers”; the scientists, “Jekylls”; and so on. Our job as the Squeegees was simple in terms of labor. We were to routinely enter a pen and wipe the cameras and sensors, basically all the exposed equipment, wipe them of this black tar. Simple.

What made Squeegees different from “Cattle” (Velociraptor detail) and “Devils” (T-Rex detail) was our species for detail. That black tar we had to wipe up is toxic. As in, one touch and you’ll feel sick in ten minutes. And the animal which produces such a poison is the beautiful Dilophosaurus. And I mean beautiful, like a flower in bloom about to end your life.

Dilos, for short, can spit up this sludge up to six feet. Get it on your skin and it’ll burn like a motherfucker. Get it in your eyes, you’ll go blind. Hence, the riot visors. Now, one Dilo isn’t too bad because you can anticipate a spit. But Dilos are pack hunters, not unlike the Raptor, although slightly more stupid. Slightly. Imagine five of these bitches alternating hawking loogies.

Despite not being Raptor smart, Dilos do coordinate their attacks using hooting sounds. We learned to know which hoots meant an ambush quickly. But, damn it, these animal’s behavior can’t be predicted. Sometimes they’d hoot and nothing would happen. We learned that they too learn.

This is why there used to be three of us. And why I speak of the Squeegees in the past tense.

I was checking off the equipment list as Maritza prepped Raul. Maritza Gonzalez, born in some town in Mexico. She’d never mention the name of the town. I always assumed it was near the border, since Maritza was fluent in English. She’s a tall girl, with short brown hair and a tan which made my sun burned skin look inferior and sickly. What I always admired about Maritza was how militant she was when it came to the job. She knew these animals were not pets or even normal zoo animals. She knew what a fucking dinosaur was and what it meant to be near one.

The person Maritza was explaining procedures to was Raul Something. I say “Something” because I never formally met the guy. Even if I did meet him, there would be no way I’d understand him. InGen hired South and Central American workers all the time as a way to dodge minimum wage, benefits, and lawsuits. Usually, these workers spoke a bit of English. Enough to understand when to get the out of the way. But Raul Something? He didn’t even try. Everything said in some dialect which made me wonder if it was even Spanish.

Maritza was clearly pissed about InGen hiring Raul. The guy had no idea what he was doing or getting into. According to Maritza, the only reason for Raul even being a Squeegee was due to a computer error. Raul was supposed to be a “Mario” (plumber). Maritza complained both formally and informally by yelling at our boss, Victor. Victor told Maritza that the hiring process is excruciatingly complex due to confidentiality and legal shit and getting Raul off the team would take a couple of weeks. Maritza proposed we postpone Squeegee duties until then, on account that it was incredibly unsafe and stupid to send a Mario to do a Squeegee’s job. Victor said InGen would simply terminate the Squeegee team and develop an automated replacement. So, of course, Maritza and I were extremely angry and worried by this. Were we obsolete? After yesterday’s... incident, I suppose we were.

Maritza geared up Raul, making sure his armor was strapped on tight and visor was clean. She went as far as getting Raul a pair of swimming goggles, just in case. Thinking about it, I kind of wish it was standard equipment to have goggles. Raul looked twice his size with the padding and helmet, like a guard dog trainer. Only for dinosaurs. He wore an idiotic smile as he gave me a fat thumb up, as if we were best friends. At that moment, I realized what Maritza knew all along; Raul had no fucking clue what we were getting into. It seemed that no one bothered to brief him about these animals.

Maritza and I locked eyes for what felt like an eternity, both of us telling each other the same terrible premonition. Both of us knew Raul was going to get us in trouble. We just didn’t know how.

Exiting the small shed storing our equipment, surrounded by an electric fence with gate, the hot humidity of the equator summer added ten pounds to my gear. An untrained person would give in to the heat and head back into the shed with its fans. I assumed Raul felt that way. I wanted to look over and see him sweating buckets, but Maritza’s cold stare into the jungle reminded me to stay sharp.

Maritza turned off the power to the gate and opened it. She turned to us, I am standing behind Raul as to watch his back, and she said something I like to believe was inspirational for some reason. I couldn’t hear her do to the shit-releasing sound of the Dilos readying to hunt. Odd. Were they not fed?

We entered the dense trees, armed with a medium sized riot shield, rags and Windex, and cattle prods. It’s InGen policy that only wardens can carry live ammo. You know, even with all this stuff on me and armed to the teeth, walking out of the cage into the jungle always made me feel naked.

We must have walked no more than a hundred feet into the jungle when Maritza stopped us with a raised cattle prod. I knew what that meant. I also knew that Raul didn’t as he nearly bumped into Maritza, his attention somewhere in the trees. Maritza listened carefully to the chirps and squeals of all the jungle creatures, like some kind of tracker. I always loved it when she did that. Her face would go stone cold and her eyes far away as she listened.

Maritza squatted behind a fallen tree, indicating for us to take cover with her. I rushed past Raul, turning briefly to make sure he followed. It took him a second, but he did. The three of squatting in gear looked as if we had a plan. We did. It was to clean that shit they spit and make it out alive. Like always.

We squatted for a couple minutes. Raul complained like a child. I could tell he was complaining by his tone, until Maritza shut him up with a slap against the visor. Raul immediately silenced himself. At that very moment, when Maritza’s hand hit the metal, I saw them. Not five like usual, but three Dilos were running through the trees, back and forth, weaving leather through the wood. Hoots and chirps followed them. It was the most beautiful and deadliest thing a person could ever witness.

Maritza held up three fingers, letting me know that I didn’t miscount. Knowing Maritza’s thinking, I understood two of them were stalking us. I also knew that this wasn’t normal behavior for the Dilos. Usually, Maritza and I would finish a run in twenty minutes, with no incidents. It must have been the heat or something to have gotten the Dilos riled up yesterday. And it was Raul’s brilliant idea to stand for a better look that got the ball rolling. They were waiting for a response.

I pulled Raul down by his arm, but the fool just pulled away. I understood then that Raul wasn’t just new to be a Squeegee, he was new to this entire island and the animals here. When Raul imitated the chirps the Dilos made, Maritza drew the line. She kicked Raul’s knee in to cause him to kneel, only that also caused him to scream at Maritza.

Without wasting a second, the flowers beside us bloomed in displays of orange and red. Flowers which reeked of rotting meat and the bitterness of their venomous tar. I’ll admit, I screamed like a child meeting the Devil. Maritza didn’t. She was a statue. Raul seemed to finally comprehend these creatures as he was closest to the flora, meeting a Dilo face to jagged toothed snout. Raul continued his genius streak by punching the fucking thing right on the snout! I mean, armed with a cattle prod, his first choice was to punch it? Of course, this pissed the Dilo off and it pounced on Raul.

As the Dilo ripped fluff out of Raul’s suit, Maritza did the logical thing and jammed some voltage into its rib cage. With a squeak like rusted metal, the Dilo hopped off Raul. It didn’t run though. It stood there, staring at Maritza with one eye toward her.

In a caw like a deranged raven, the Dilo kicked her head back and launched a good wad of tar toward Maritza, striking her visor. Several curse words left Maritza in Spanish as she tried to wipe the tar off. It didn’t come off, and she knew better than to remove the visor. I rushed to her aid, when I noticed that Raul was gone, his shield lying where he stood. I couldn’t distract myself with Raul’s hijinks, as Maritza needed me. Yet, I knew there was nothing I could do for we were in the center of a circle of Dilos. I lowered my head and closed my eyes.

For the longest seconds of my life, I felt punches of tar striking me with force from every direction. It wasn’t that they couldn’t kill us without spitting, it was just in their nature. I felt the heat of the body fluid through my suit, every spit weighing me down as I hovered over Maritza. And they pounced.

One by one, or two by two, I couldn’t tell, the Dilos kicked and maimed, layers of our suit were torn off. I held on to my visor with all my strength, in fear of even getting a drop of venom on me. I wish Maritza did the same. I heard the most nightmarish scream come from her in the craze of claws. I opened an eye to get a glimpse of Maritza, seeing that her visor had cracked, and the tar had seeped through. Maritza threw her body in painful fits as the venom burned her eyes.

I couldn’t take the carnage. I don’t recall what happened afterward, but I did survive. I’m writing from my hospital bed in Costa Rica. I have a broken clavicle and bruised ribs, nothing serious, but InGen wanted me off the island immediately. This morning several lawyers came into my room and had me sign several documents under threat of legal action and having to pay my medical bills (which InGen made sure were steep). The forms were the standard suit bullshit like NDAs and papers that will surely wash their hands of this.

I don’t know if Maritza survived. I’m sure she’s blind now. I know Raul is fine and dandy because there’s a “get well soon” card with his dumbass signature. And the card features a dinosaur! I wonder if Maritza got one. If she still lived, I have to remind myself.

InGen offered me the opportunity to stay with the company. I assume it’s to keep an eye on me since I’m the only American in the team. Or was. The Squeegees have been terminated. No more cannon fodder to clean up Dilo phlegm. Funny how things really get done when tragedy strikes.

I decided to take the offer. I can’t afford to move back to the states yet. What am I going to do? Work janitor at a zoo or security guard at a mall? I’m a high school dropout. This job pays and it pays well, despite the risk of agonizing blindness and possible death.

#  02\. We Spared No Expense

Name: Shane Johnson

Date: June 13th, 1993

God damn fat pig, Dennis bomb dropping Nedry! If there’s one thing Jurassic Park doesn’t need is candy bar chowing blobs messing with the system! I know where he’s been. Any idiot can follow where he’s been. Just follow the pipelines. Got a problem? It’s Nedry.

I was hired by InGen to make sure we have a flawless system in Jurassic Park. Hell, John Hammond himself told me, “Make it work. We spare no expense.”

And what did I do? I created the most flawless and efficient layout imaginable. Designed to process the thousands which will be flooding the park when it opens. Designed to be durable from quality sources. Not designed for Dennis Nedry!

I see that smug smirk on his hamburger greased mound of a face. Eyes squinting behind dirty glasses, as if trying to pinch another off. He knows it pisses me off. I can’t believe I, a professional, can be bested by a nerd.

My son, that kid is a nerd. I tell him to quit those Gameboys and Dungeons & Dragons. Those things make you soft. Nerds are the false prophets. They seem smart, but they are conceited and weak. I don’t want my son to become that. I don’t need another Nedry. So, I put a screwdriver in my boy’s hand and taught him the craft. He hates me, but at least he won’t be like Nedry.

I should really wrap this entry up. I’m wanted at the T-Rex area. The facility by the paddock is on the fritz. Again. I can already guess who fucked that one up. I swear, when Hammond said to spare no expense, I didn’t think I’d be dealing with black hole clogging shits. Somehow one man managed to undo what was designed to support thousands. How is that possible?

I took this job because my boy wanted to see Jurassic Park when it opened. InGen gives their employees priority passes and rooms for opening day. And the pay ain’t too bad. I just think that Nedry has eaten his way to the top of the food chain. I can’t stand whatever backed-up crap he’s pumping out.

Maybe I can use what I earned and buy tickets when they’re available. Can’t be more than a couple grand. And I’m sure there’s like a discount for people who still work for InGen, but not at the park, right? I could transfer to the one in San Diego. I hear they are butting heads with city hall over their own network. I’m sure they can use a plumber with my qualifications. At least I won’t have to unclog toilets after Nedry takes a dino-shit anymore.

Speaking of dino-shits, I need to fix the pipes at the Rex paddock outhouse. If I leave now, I can beat those tourists Hammond has over. Hopefully, I can get it done before the storm gets worse.

  
  


#  03\. They Remember

Name: Erika Kaysen

Date: April 2nd, 1992

Muldoon described the animals as “unlike any modern beast”. The way he first spoke of them, there was a slight fear in his voice, as if he was still processing the shock of watching one hunt for the first time. Though he’s seen it multiple times. I’ve wrangled gators in Florida, captured stray bears in Washington, so I know how wild an animal can get. But the awe in Muldoon’s eyes, they told me that the Velociraptor was more astonishing than some swamp gator.

It rained hard on April Fool’s Day. Nublar sees heavy rains often, especially in the Spring, but that rain wasn’t the same as before. Instead of warm drops from the gray, we got cold stinging needles, as if the sky had frozen. It was refreshing in contrast to the sticky tropical heat. At one point, I ended up staring into the sky as the cool washed my face.

Muldoon and I oversaw several Wranglers in the processing and containment of transfers from Site B. Most of the wranglers from Costa Rica and some even from Nicaragua, only three were from the states. InGen would have chosen all of them from Central America, but Muldoon felt he needed more of his own men on the job.

As InGen employees, we constantly heard how Hammond wanted the best of the best, yet InGen was doing anything they could to cheap out on employees. When leasing the islands in ‘85 from Costa Rica, InGen also signed a deal to employ as many Costa Ricans as possible. I guess they thought it’d grease the wheels of the acquisition. They are hard workers, most of them coming from labor backgrounds.

Basically, the labor jobs were designated for Costa Ricans. Wranglers, Squeegees, grunts: Costa Rican. Rangers and maintenance were usually American. Except for Muldoon. Guy’s British or something with a dangerous accent. And the Suits and Jekylls? Hand-picked from InGen’s best, usually American or Japanese. I’m a ranger, so bet that I’m American. From Arizona, actually.

Unlike the mainland, we don’t celebrate April Fool’s Day on Nublar. InGen is all about policy and rules followed to a “t” for safety reasons. After a construction mishap, well, no more pranks. Muldoon told our team that those workers ought to be grateful that steel was the danger, not teeth. Muldoon seems to have an ambivalence toward the dinosaurs. Like a love/hate thing. When he speaks of them, he uses dramatic phrases and admiring words, yet, when you look into his eyes as he stares at them, you can see how he wishes he could destroy them all. I think it makes his whole British badass rep even more dynamic. I like it.

On April Fool’s Day, Muldoon informed us of a high priority transfer. A new breed of dinosaur or something just as scary. Muldoon told us that he’s observed these girls in the wild before the transfer. How they are fast, precise, and can even plan and coordinate. “Perfect pack hunters,” Muldoon said. And as always, Muldoon made sure we understood that however “cute” they may appear, these creatures are always deadly.

I’ve always wondered where these animals came from. There’s rumor on Nublar about a facility on the mainland, a Site B. I don’t think that’s true. How would they hide the space to let them run free? The “wild”, as Muldoon put it? Some of us think InGen owns another island. A bigger one. It makes sense as these new animals come in by boat usually.

The boat arrived around noon. I was grateful for the rain. The truck carrying the animals arrived at their pen 30 minutes later. It’s not that far, but paperwork, you know? I saw the green truck with InGen logos on the doors and hood, tugging a bed with a secured cage. In the gloomy sunlight, I could see the shadowed creatures within.

3, maybe 4 feet tall. About 8 feet long. Slender. They stood militant in the cage. I counted four of them. Muldoon told me there was supposed to be five, but one was killed in transport. The pack turned on her and tore her apart. Muldoon had no idea why, but assumed it was territorial. I’ve seen bigger dinosaurs in my time on this island, but, for some strange reason, these gave me chills. As the truck drove by us, the “Raptors”, as Muldoon called them, turned in unison and simply stared Muldoon and I down. As if they knew we were the two in charge. Scary.

Fortunately, the transfer went without a hitch. The four Raptors were secured in their pen, but Muldoon told me that wouldn’t hold them for long. From what he said, the Jekylls knew the animal was different when they were first created. More dangerous than, say, a hulking T-Rex. So, InGen tampered with the genetics. Created variations. Some were blue, some had feathers. Sounds pretty cool actually.

These Raptors, the ones in the medium sized pen, were supposed to be smaller and slower. Muldoon said the opposite happened. They’ll grow a foot longer than they’re supposed to. Doesn’t sound too bad, but account the tropical weather and human presence, I’m sure they’d get annoyed being cramped together in a box. I mean, they did just slaughter their sibling. Muldoon already put the order on construction of a larger, more secure pen. He works fast.

On my way out of the pen area, I decided, for some compelling reason, to look back at the pen. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe to see cute little dinos playing? Yeah, right. I wanted to validate that chill I had earlier. I wanted to know for myself if they were as terrible as Muldoon made them seem.

I looked back, only to make eye contact with one of the Raptors. Eye to yellow lizard eye. I felt as if she was analyzing me. Sizing me up. It wasn’t like the Trike or Gallies, when they look into your eyes you basically see the eyes of cattle. These eyes, they were alive. They were imprinting, as if they would remember me for the one who put them in that cage.

Last night, I had a nightmare. The pen was left unlocked and that one Raptor, it found my room. Opened the door and walked to the foot of my bed, long claws scratching the wood floors. It was 10 feet tall, taller than anything Muldoon described. It had long serrated teeth and a slender snake-like forked tongue. The Raptor towered over me, breathing the foul stench of rotting meat with a hint of mint. And then its jaws fell open and out came, “I’m coming for you, Erika.”

I need to report to work in an hour. I couldn’t sleep after that nightmare. I’m glad today we’re herding the Trikes to a grazing area. I like those girls. They don’t freak me the hell out. I don’t know when Muldoon plans to move those Raptors, but I hope I get promoted by then so I can lead my own team on taking the Trikes down to the lagoon. Much better.

#  04\. Gallo Pinto & Beer

Name: Jose Alejandro

Date: June 4th, 1993

(Translated from Spanish)

I hate to say it, but that guy getting hurt is a Godsend! I finally get to see precious Nayeli and my lovely Yolanda. Oh, how I’ve missed Yolanda. The way her hair frizzled in the morning. How she always smelled of lavender. Look at me, I’m talking like it’s been years. It’s only been a couple of months, but it feels like years.

I do feel bad about the guy though. I mean, I think he’s in critical condition in Costa Rica. After the accident, there was an hour-long lecture on safety in every department. It was a complete waste of time, of course. That evening, a memo went out to our construction company. We’re still contracted, but there’s been a halt in construction. The higher ups gave each worker a $300 bonus with our final checks. I have enough money for Nayeli to go to a good school from our wages, so the bonus is for her books. University is expensive!

I am going to miss this place. The building we were working on looks real good. I’m impressed. It looks like a grass hut mansion. This morning, before we got in the bus to the docks, I peeked inside. It’s like a museum. I’ve never been to one, but I watch television. There was two giant skeletons of these dinosaurs fighting or something. Looked really cool. Even though it looks amazing, it’s all going to waste if it rains. They should have really let us finish that wall. It’s big enough for an elephant to fit through.

Why do I even care? I’m going home! Home to family and friend and gallo pinto and beer! I really missed beer. The boys would smuggle a couple of cases with them every few weeks, but I never drank with them. I was too afraid of the random tests.

The boat’s just getting here. I forgot my headphones in my cabin. I’m sure they’ll still be there when we get called back to work. I’m always forgetting things.

#  05\. The Young Queen

Name: Dr. Frances Gibbons

Date: May 7th, 1989

For a juvenile, she’s big. Like 7 feet tall! I’ve heard the other scientists talking among themselves, telling each other rumors about this animal, as if they were all experts on that specific species. Things like estimations of top running speed once an adult, assumptions about her vision, and things like that. Hell, most of them aren’t even paleontologists or geneticists, just simple technicians. How would they know? Oh, because their co-worker has a friend on Sorna. Typical rumors.

We were told not to name them. There’s even a clause in our employment contracts regarding it. Something about the “illusion of ownership”, which is honestly just a way to red tape us. I’ve seen Henry and John, how they practically cry over an infant. Why can’t I name one? Just one? I’m naming this one. Her name is Queen because, after all, that’s what she is.

Unlike the rumors of the other scientists, I have concrete evidence on Queen’s behavior. She is ruthless, killing two Raptors on Sorna. I guess that’s why they only waited a year to transport her, the fear of retaliation. She is nothing less than an apex predator, and the others seem to forget that, treating her like an infant pet. Idiots. They don’t see the same cold, dead stare in her eyes. They don’t smell the rot in her breath. All they see are videos on their monitors and all they smell is each other’s bullshit. I see Queen and I know her potential, how she will eventually rule this island.

Although it’s incomplete, they still put her in the paddock. Stupid of them, underestimating her potential. The paddock is fenced off and I believe the generators are online, but the moat is half finished, so when she grows, which is happening pretty quickly, a power outage will definitely lead to chaos. I was thinking of bringing up my concerns with Robert, but he’s not a fan of us “Jekyll” types. Thinks we are committing sins. I hear the only reason he works for Hammond is because they’re friends and he doesn’t want us all getting killed on the job. Isn’t that sweet?

Personally, I don’t feel like I’m in danger. I spend most of my days in these facilities, usually in the labs analyzing amber and fossils. These places, especially the labs, are super secure. Not only are they designed for dinosaur containment breaches, but also against unauthorized access. No one gets in or out without HQ knowing. How do I know this? Because InGen came down on me for not clocking in one day. Thought I was trespassing. There was a lovely show of guards with batons escorting me to the holding cells. That’s right, InGen put holding cells in Jurassic Park, not for the future guests, but for employees.

When I was put in the cell, my coworkers freaked out. They thought I was a spy, a thief, something other than a non-clock puncher. When I explained what happened, they relaxed a bit on me and tensed up on InGen. They felt threatened, untrusted. I know we’re not trusted. The security checks we undergo every time we enter the island should be a telltale sign.

My lunch break is almost up. I’m trying to make a habit of watching Queen’s video feed before my break is over. She’s fascinating. Like a big dog with an urge to kill. I still haven’t seen her feed. I bet it’s beautiful, like a cascade of meat and bone and blood. I’m not twisted, mind you, just... I think it would be cool to watch her feed. I’ve seen the Brachis feed. It was neat at first, but that was just the novelty. I bet watching a Rex feed would be something amazing.

#  06\. That Idiot, Nedry!

Name: Johnathan Medina

Date: June 11th, 1993

To: [PRhodes@BioSynNet.com](mailto:PRhodes@BioSynNet.com)

Subject: THAT IDIOT, NEDRY!

Pheonix, we seriously fucked up in trusting Nedry. The man is an idiot. Why did Lewis trust that sloth with something so critical?

Let me rewind.

This Thursday, I was at the control room doing some maintenance work. Ants got into some servers and I was to replace certain parts. As I was tracing the ants to their source, hoping a little caulk would stop them, I found that the trail split around the sliding doors. One trail led out into the island. That could be remedied with a little seal on the doors. It’s the other trail’s destination which led to me losing it.

I reached the end of the line for the busy ants. They swarmed and little by little tore their prize apart; an unwrapped candy bar hiding under the medical cabinet.

I was quick to speak out, questioning Arnold and Nedry regarding the candy bar. Arnold denied the candy being his, and I believed him. The man’s vice is nicotine, not sugar. I turned to Nedry, who sat with one of those stress toys and a stupid grin. I asked if he knew of the candy bar. I wish he’d flat out lie. Instead, Nedry went on a rant on how I’m not cleared to be in the facility (which I was cleared for) and how a lowly tech guy shouldn’t be taking up his time.

The son of a bitch was only squeezing that damn toy and chewing gum! He wasn’t busy. He was dismissing me.

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Nedry aware of my purpose? Didn’t Lewis brief him? Because the way Nedry looked at me, as if I was a total stranger, it made me feel like he was clueless. Lewis was supposed to brief him on his mission and the agents on the field he could turn to for support (i.e. me). But this lout just stared with beady eyes, chest rising with heavy breathing, as if he was my superior and demanded that I left the facility.

Pheonix, you know me and I’m usually not the one to complain, but this guy is impossible!

Today, I approached Nedry near the docks. He was heading to Costa Rica to meet Lewis tomorrow. The Hawaiian shirt aficionado carried a suitcase and ate a burrito, which poured sauce on his chest, as he walked my way. As he waited in line for the boat, I whispered the code; “death to the tyrant” into his ear. Do you know what was his reaction? To shove me aside and call me queer. The moron. I was going to give him a message for Lewis so to avoid using traceable communication such as emails.

My briefing was to postpone the operation until Lewis could find a replacement for Nedry. I feel with his demonstrations of carelessness and ignorance, we can’t bet on him not mucking things up. I mean, for Christ’s sake, he is shutting down the island for a few hours according to Lewis. Who know how Nedry could screw it up?

I don’t feel safe on this island. Not because InGen can find me out, but because we are trusting nearly everything to a man who can’t even man up to a candy bar.

Please, Pheonix, tell Lewis I’m leaving the island later tonight. I don’t want to be here when Nedry ruins the operation.

#  07\. Who Is Dodgson?

Name: Yolanda Gustavo

Date: May 11th, 1993

I’ve been with InGen for about a year now. Usually, secrets are commonplace with them, especially on this island. But something has been bugging me for the last few days.

I was cleaning the office of Lee Holden, an InGen suit who has made Isla Nublar the base of his operations, when I stumbled onto a crumpled memo in the trash. I’m not one to snoop, but the yellow paper was difficult to deny. I took the page and glanced at its contents before Lee returned. Apparently, there is someone named Dodgson involved with InGen. I don’t know if they are employee or what, but the higher ups are really bothered by him.

Last year, there was a lawsuit filed against Dodgson and a thing called BioSyn. I’m not very corporate, just a cleaning person, so the names have little meaning to me. I assume BioSyn is a company program within InGen. So, this lawsuit fell flat for some reason and InGen is up in arms over that. They are putting a notice to all InGen suits and security to be on the lookout for suspicious persons. I wonder what that means? Honestly, there’s a lot of suspicious activity on this island.

Last week, I saw three men in suits, one carrying an odd case, exiting the Visitor’s Center. They seemed to be in a rush. I was watching from the Jeep across the pond in front of the Center, as I drank my morning coffee. An Asian scientist soon exited the Center after the men. I could tell he was a scientist by the white lab coat. The scientist appeared very upset. He stopped the men and demanded they give him the case. The men refused, giving the scientist a paper. I assume it’s from the higher ups. Bothered by this, the scientist crumpled up the page and marched back into the Center.

The reason this event has bothered me so much is because the name of “Dodgson” began reappearing around the island, leading to the memo in the trash. First, I heard it on a telephone call in the snack lounge as a security officer was ranting. Something along the lines of “snake like Dodgson” was the highlight of the call. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she was so loud.

Again, a day later, I encountered the name. This time, it was displayed on a computer screen. “L. Dodgson” it said, along with guidelines for a kind of alert. At first, I thought it was an animal related issue, and grew a bit concerned. I spoke to Stephen, my co-worker, and he assured me it must be corporate business because Stephen is close to the Devil crews and hasn’t heard anything regarding the animals.

Yet, something has security riled up. Checkpoints are more thorough, as are the personnel inspections which occurred every week are now being conducted every three days. This means that in the past week, I had to allow the security officers to rummage through my cabin. And twice I had to arrange everything back to how it was. Once, they found my journal and a piece of eggshell fell out from the pages. It was a memento, but security reminded me that nothing is to be taken from the island without permission. I was worried I’d be fired, but I think I’m safe now.

I’m just wondering; who in the hell is Dodgson? Why is InGen so paranoid of him? I want to investigate, but I need this job. It pays too well.

#  08\. The Rats Of Isla Nublar

Name: Isaias Robles

Date: February 7th, 1992

I told Rhoda that the problem we had wasn’t rats, but she insisted we continued setting mousetraps around the kitchen and dining area. So, as per her advice, I set traps all over the place. I used both spring-loaded traps and adhesive traps, just to prove to Rhoda that there were no rats in this facility. I swear, I would have installed cameras in the kitchen, for I was so desperate for cooperation.

For the first week, we caught a few roaches and a spider. It was a big hairy arachnid, but not a rat. I was about to collect all the traps to show Rhoda that I was right, when I caught the real culprit.

In the past three months, there have been bites taken from our meats and I’ve been finding little turds under several counters. Little almost white turds. Tell me, when has a rat shit white? Rhoda claimed they were from rats that came over in a shipment. She said that they must have been from Costa Rica. Yet, no one has seen a single furball in all this time. And the last shipment from the mainland was FOUR months ago. Are rats so clever to wait a month before raiding our food supply? Impossible.

This morning, I was on my way to the kitchen, across from the dining room, when I heard a faint squeak under one of the tables. For a moment, yes, I assumed a rat was caught in a trap. I almost felt embarrassed because I insisted there were none. But as I approached the table, I heard something which confirmed it was not a rat, yet I was at a loss by what it could be. The creatures of this island are usually pretty large. Did a baby wander in here and got caught?

When I reached the table, I hesitated to look because I feared what I may have found. I’ve been a cook on Isla Nublar for about a year, and one of the Wranglers gave me a brief tour of the park. I’ve seen what kind of creatures these are, and I knew some were vicious. Imagine if, say, a baby of that big brown one with the tiny arms got stuck in an adhesive trap, yelping for its mother. It’s a hazard, right? That mother could bust out of the cage in a rage, I think, in defense of the baby.

I squatted and lifted the tablecloth and was shocked to find, not a baby, but a small green lizard stuck in the glue of an adhesive trap. It was an odd thing because it walked on two legs, unlike most lizards. So, naturally, I assumed it was possibly a new creation. I removed the tablecloth and approached the lizard slowly, with the intention of catching it to show Rhoda. It was a pain in the ass to catch, even though it was trapped. It kept trying to take bites out of my hands whenever I got too close. I wanted to remove the trap before showing Rhoda, because I thought it would be more humane. But I wasn’t about to be bit in the process of doing that. So, I simply tossed the tablecloth on it and picked it up, trap and all. The lizard caused quite the commotion from within the cloth, squeaking, chirping, and growling as I carried it out of the dining room and to my Jeep.

On my way to the Jeep, I crossed paths with Eduardo, the Wrangler which gave me the tour. Before he could greet me, the sounds from the moving cloth bundle caught his attention. He asked if I brought a pet to the island, which is against the rules. I said it’s a lizard I found in the dining room. Eduardo wanted to take a look at it, since his time on the island had given him an interest in the local animals. I showed Eduardo the lizard. Immediately, Eduardo gasped and told me it was no lizard. I asked what it was, then.

According to Eduardo, this thing was a dinosaur unlike any he has ever seen before. I asked how he knew. He said he just knew. I told him about the raids in the kitchen and that Rhoda believed the culprits to be rats. Eduardo laughed it off. He told me InGen was very strict in eliminating the rat population from the island before introducing the creatures and Rhoda was again trying to cover up a containment breach.

Last September, one of the larger animals, not the big brown one, dug under the fencing and escaped its pen. Rhoda oversaw the Wranglers at the time and Eduardo tried warning her of the risk the soft soil under the fence was. When he was ignored, Eduardo turned to Muldoon, head of the Tasers, and explained the reason for the escape. When confronted by Muldoon, Rhoda denied Eduardo had said anything to her regarding the breach. Muldoon could see through Rhoda, so the soil was paved over, and Rhoda was demoted to overseeing the Visitor’s Center. Eduardo assumes the demotion and my friendship with him is the reason why Rhoda was so dismissive of my reports.

Eduardo called a Wrangler team to take the dino-lizard to its proper pen, and then things got mysterious. According to one of the Wranglers picking up the creature, Rafa, this animal was not native to the island. Rafa didn’t know where it originated from but felt that it was a stowaway from a different shipment, not from the mainland. Eduardo and I were confused as we didn’t know what that meant. Rafa explained.

As far as Rafa knew, some dinos were not bred on Nublar, but shipped to the island from somewhere else. Where from? He didn’t know, but the rumor was there is a second island of dinos. That was too much for me to process; the fact that there are two dinosaur islands. Rafa laughed when I told him that and said that there was also rumors of a third island full of rejected creations.

I’m just a cook, not a Jekyll, Wrangler, or Taser. I don’t know how these things are made or where they come from or even their proper names. All I know is that Rhoda screwed up… again. She should have investigated the matter as soon as I reported it and involved the Wranglers, not dismiss my findings by claiming rats were responsible. A couple of hours ago, I got wind that Rhoda was relieved of her duties by Hammond himself. Eduardo said that Hammond and Muldoon were furious at her. Rightfully so. I mean, what if it was a baby? Imagine the chaos it would cause.

Well, at least now I don’t have to worry about food contamination. The creature, which Eduardo called a “Compy” after hearing it from Muldoon, is gone and tomorrow there will be a sterilization of the kitchen and dining area.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have taken a job on the mainland instead. This island is fucking weird.

#  09\. The Super-Spy

Name: Silvia Marcos

Date: January 1st, 1993

I spoke with Cassandra again. She’s obsessed with the livelihood of these monsters. I guess, that’s why she signed up with us. She wants to ensure no harm comes to them and that this little endeavor InGen has with them doesn’t lead to abuse. It’s nuts, but she’s my cover and contact, so I don’t question her.

Lewis said that Cassandra would cooperate, and she is doing just that. Dr. Wu and she believe that InGen have something precious, like fine amber, but that they will squander if things go South. She says that Dr. Wu is growing frustrated with John Hammond’s focus on making Jurassic Park the world’s greatest THEME PARK. Cassandra wants a zoo, not a park where people and profit are the priority. It’s obvious to me that business is second thought to her.

When I arrived at Isla Nublar last year, she vouched for me and I got a job as the electrician on the Northern parts of the island. Checking fences and grids for InGen has opened the doors to some snooping on my part. I was able to gain access to a research station and, by God, the shit they are doing; it’s like a sci-fi movie. Cloning, genetic modifications, and bringing the extinct to life, it can get a little overwhelming. I never thought I’d encounter such powers when I was hired by BioSyn.

On the mainland, before Lewis picked me up, I was teaching at a community college. Statistics were my discipline. I was offered a position in BioSyn after I met with a Dr. Ian Malcolm, a mathematician. Apparently, InGen wants to bring Dr. Malcolm to the island and give him a tour. Lewis wanted to know if he could be bought beforehand. I don’t know why he couldn’t approach Dr. Malcolm himself, but I assume, judging from the espionage Lewis has me doing, that Dr. Malcolm is a man of integrity and principle, so revealing BioSyn’s intentions would be damning to the cause.

From what I gather, BioSyn is planning on replicating the research InGen has done, but their scientists have been unsuccessful. It’s not easy cloning a whatever-million-year-old lizard from a bug in amber. I’m no geneticist, but I know that DNA has a shelf life and extraction is an extremely delicate operation. Dr. Wu has a proven process and his documents are heavily guarded, so agents like me must scrounge up whatever details we can find.

Lewis is keen on the idea of smuggling genetic samples off the island. He even seemed to have persuaded a high clearance employee of this park to fulfill his desires. I haven’t met the rat, but I assume he’s a kind of badass, seeing how he’s going to pull off some super-spy shit. Lewis has instructed me to get off the island before the summer, as a safety concern. It’s funny. Despite how shady and underhanded BioSyn is, they do have a way in ensuring their employee’s safety. I’m guessing this island is going to get crazy this summer and things will get dangerous. I’m not worried though. I’ll be off the island by March, as my mission has been passed on to the super-spy. At least, I still get paid.

I did find an interesting memo during my time here. Apparently, there’s a second island. One not too far from here, where they breed all kinds of dinosaurs. The memo was directed to the shipping department, stating that a new shipment of “Raptors” had been compromised. It says that an outbreak on the ship led to a couple dead animals and that fear of spreading the disease requests that the surviving creatures be shipped back to the second island. What kind of disease affects a prehistoric animal in our modern age? I would inquire, but I don’t want to blow my cover.

Although it seems I’m to be soon relieved of my duties, I find it critical to report my findings to Lewis. If there is a second island, maybe we won’t have to risk failure by breaching security on this one. BioSyn could just hit the second island, which the memo references as their “honey pot” and get what we need from there. Hell, I think a live specimen is much more valuable than a couple vials of goo.

I’ll let Lewis know in February, when I take my shore leave from this rock. On Nublar, I was instructed to keep radio silent and only contact BioSyn when they reach out to me. I’m not to call them, write them, or even acknowledge their existence. Some idiot named Johnathan Medina was scolded for sending emails to Lewis with InGen computers. Yet, he persists. I hope he gets fired because I’m not letting my time here go to waste due to stupidity.

Tomorrow I must address a faulty generator at the Rex paddock. I love going there. That dinosaur is amazing. I love watching it eat. It’s a perk to encounter these phenomena that are the dinosaurs firsthand. I don’t want to leave the island, but my dedication to BioSyn and their cause comes first. Too bad Jurassic Park will go belly-up after BioSyn is done. I would have used my paycheck on tickets when they opened Jurassic Park.

#  10\. Breakfast on Sorna, Dinner On Nublar

Name: Samson Gray

Date: July 7th, 1992

This back and forth InGen has me doing, it’s getting tiresome. I eat breakfast on one island and have dinner on the other. It doesn’t help that I get seasick, but I don’t complain. What’s a little vomit compared to a couple grand per delivery?

I’ve been helping move incubators from Isla Sorna to Nublar. R&D has been building them especially for the park, making them as fancy as they can without compromising function. I’m guessing these are intended for the tour. I saw one during the testing of the machinery. It had this cool robot arm. Daniel, a lab coat for R&D on Sorna, he made it feed me eggs and toast. I’m sure they had to sterilize it afterward. And don’t think the irony escapes me; eating eggs from an arm intended to nurture eggs instead. It didn’t do a bad job, only making a slight mess.

These incubator deliveries have been less taxing than the usual affair. Before InGen decided to breed Raptors on Nublar, we were transporting them on ships from Sorna. I suppose that the accident rates in said transportations were getting too problematic for InGen. For how long can the company cover up gashes and bites as construction mishaps? Yes, most of my coworkers are from Central and South America, but that doesn’t mean they are fools.

Last month, all of us at The Village on Sorna had a laugh when we overheard a conversation on the radio between a representative from human resources and one pissed off mother. It was in Spanish, but Rosa translated for those who didn’t understand the language. And, my God, that lady tore the HR guy a new one. The son, a Wrangler for InGen, nearly lost his index and middle finger due to a containment issue during a transport of Compies. Three or four of them got loose on the ship due to faulty locks, and they scrambled to get them back in their carriers. The son, he thought they were harmless because they’re so small and skinny, and the guy picked one up by hand. We are supposed to use nets. Well, the Compy bit down on the son of a bitch’s fingers and severed the tendons. His fingers hung on solely by the skin and the Compy was drenched in blood.

The mother was upset because the hospital visit was not covered by our insurance, as he didn’t follow protocol and, hence, went against the terms of the plan. We are covered for dinosaur related injuries, but only if we follow protocols and terms set by InGen. One term clearly states that there is no “hands on” handling of the animals. Always use nets and snares, and, if you must, tasers to make the task easier. It’s only logical to restrict employees from putting delicious fleshy hands on a prehistoric carnivore. They may be magnificent, but they are deadly.

During the call, the mother threatened a lawsuit, but little did she know, InGen has a deal with the Costa Rican government to overlook most Jurassic Park related claims. I don’t know how InGen got them to cooperate without spilling the beans on the park’s featured attractions, but I’m damn sure it involved a lot of money. InGen is good at throwing money at most legal matters.

We should be arriving at Nublar around 7 PM tonight. Hopefully, the café still is serving dinner. I really like the steaks they serve at the Dilo Café. They know how to make them crisp on the outside and juicy inside. I look forward to sinking my teeth into that savory pink meat. You can tell I’m hungry.

#  11\. Man in the Box

Name: Jerry Lane

Date: September 10th, 1991

I’m pissed. I lost my Walkman last night as I cleaned the Trike pen. I had it clipped to my belt as I listened to Alice In Chains and shoveled shit onto the truck bed. It’s not the first time I listened to music as I worked, so I wasn’t concerned in losing it. But it was the first time I’ve come in contact with one of the animals. They usually keep their distance. I believe they fear the rumble of the truck’s engine, which, to be honest, needs some work done. That engine sounds like it’s ready to give out.

As I shoveled, a younger Trike, close to newborn, approached me and watched me work for several minutes. Bernardo honked the horn, trying to spook it away. He has this fear for most of the animals on the island. Herbivore or carnivore, Bernardo thinks they are all out to get him. He was telling me last night before our duties how he sometimes has nightmares of a Brachi disemboweling him and feasting on his innards. I’ve tried to explain to him how it’s impossible for most herbivores to even process meat and how they would never hurt him intentionally, unless they felt threatened. Bernardo turned on the truck and revved the engine, letting me know how the sound of the truck was threatening enough. Although I can’t argue with that, I don’t believe it would lead to incidents like in Bernardo’s outlandish dreams.

I was almost finished scooping the shit mountain, when the little Trike got closer to me. Bernardo freaked out, claiming it would bite, so I decided to pet it just to prove him wrong. That was my mistake. As I pet the Trike, it nuzzled against me. I must have hit a sweet spot for it to get so affectionate. I didn’t think of it much, as I was caught up in the cuteness of the big little dino. It made this purring sound, very deep with bass, and nearly pushed me into the remaining shit. I held my ground, but those things are strong, even as children.

I didn’t notice that the Trike’s nuzzling pushed against my Walkman, causing the plastic clip to snap. I must have shoveled it along with the shit without knowing. It wasn’t until we were halfway to our quarters when Bernardo asked me to put on some music. I reached for my Walkman, finding the spot on my belt devoid of the tape player. I still wore the headphones around my neck, but they were unplugged. I panicked, and Bernardo thought there was a greater issue going by my reaction. He slammed on the breaks and we skidded to a halt. I jumped out of the truck and searched my seat and under, looking for the damn thing.

I wouldn’t have reacted so dramatically if it weren’t so important to me. Isaias gave it to me as a gift for my birthday. And I have a thing for him. He’s an amazing chef and his cooking made me develop a bit of a crush. When he gave me the Walkman, we made eye contact for what felt like an eternity, and then he smiled. I was swept away, and the Walkman quickly became my prized possession.

After checking the cab of the truck, the thought occurred to me: what if I left it in the Trike pen? That’s when Bernardo suggested in a joke that I may have scooped it up with the shit. I immediately ran to the rear of the truck and climbed the bed, glancing over the mound of shit. It reeked of rotting plants and, of course, crap. Bernardo stepped out of the truck and walked on over, tossing me a pair of rubber gloves. He said that it’s probably buried deeply, and I should start digging before it gets later. I was about take his advice, when I noticed what looked like a pebble sticking out of the mound. It was pointed and gray and smooth, so I assumed that must have been the Walkman.

Of course, Bernardo watched and laughed as I waded through the pile, toward what may or may not be my Walkman. My work boots squished with every step and my pants were ruined, but none of that mattered. When I reached the pebble, I put on the gloves and pulled on it. It was the Walkman, and it was completely covered in brown goop. To Bernardo’s disgust, I plugged in my headphones and hit the play button. The pegs which turn the tape moved slightly, but enough moisture got inside to ruin the device. I hoped I could save the tape, but that too was ruined. I grunted, “Shit!”

Bernardo said, “That’s what you’re in.”

He laid out some plastic bags on my seat and we got in the truck. I was very upset, so he started singing, since we had no tape to listen to and the radio doesn’t get a signal on this rock.

That Bernardo, what a clown. Out of all the songs he could sing, he chose “Man in the Box” from the album Facelift, which was the tape I had in the player. As he sang, he would emphasize the line, “buried in my shit” by yelling it loud, then he laughed. At first, I was a bit offended, but when he started repeating the verse, I couldn’t help but smile. I mean, he, with his strong Latin accent, only knew the first verse and the chorus, so hearing him try his best impression of the lead singer from Alice In Chains was a spectacle on repeat. I did end up feeling slightly cheered up by his efforts.

This morning though, as per my routine, I woke up and reached for my Walkman on the nightstand, only to find the spot empty. I cursed and felt stupid again for losing it. I hope Isaias doesn’t ask me about it when I see him for breakfast, as I usually clip the Walkman on my belt and the bulky player is hard to miss. If he notices and asks what happened, I’ll be too embarrassed to tell him that it’s buried in shit like the man in the box.


End file.
